Dead Quiet
by zombisanscafe
Summary: A group of high school students from South Park are forced into groups when Hell freezes over and creatures from the darkest depths of the inferno leak out onto Earth. This brings about drama, betrayal, and unsuspected romance in the newly formed colonies. many ships Characters: Stan, Craig, Token, Wendy, Bebe, Clyde, Christophe, Gregory, Damien, Kenny, Red, Kevin S, Tweek
1. Chapter 1 - Introduction

Hello! This story is based on sp - ragnarok's Hell alternate universe, available on tumblr. The foundation of this story belongs entirely to the - donoman who is on tumblr as well. If you like this story, please follow it and the sp - ragnarok page on tumblr in order to fully experience this new AU. I am simply writing for it because I love his AU. You can find me on tumblr under the name zombisanscafe.

Summary: A group of high school students from South Park are forced into a new way of life when Hell freezes over and creatures from the depths of the inferno leak out onto Earth. In order to survive, they form groups. This brings about drama, betrayal, and unsuspected romance in the newly formed colonies.

Ships tags that will appear in this story: Creek, Staig, Dristophe, Gregstophe, Candy, Cutters, Clybe, Toyle, Tokendy, Crenny, Stenny, Cryde

The ships are subject to change as the story progresses.


	2. Chapter 2 - Story Begins

"Tomorrow morning."

"Yeah. I'll be here. You probably'll stay home or something."

"I won't. I'm going to pound your face into the ground, you fucking shithead."

"Yeah. Whatever Tucker."

"Whatever, Marsh."

4:32 AM. The illumination of the numbers from his clock dimly lit the room enough for him to stare at the ceiling without the obstruction of the darkness. His fan hummed, supplying him with the necessary white noise that should have distracted him from thinking about tomorrow. But here he was, wide-eyed and awake, staring at the ceiling. Thinking about it.

Maybe it was bound to happen eventually, his fight with Craig Tucker. Things had been escalating quickly. After all, he had purposely called him out in fourth hour to read next in the book when he knew he had a sore throat a month ago. Then he tripped him multiple times in the cafeteria. It wasn't his fault really; Tucker had done equally irritating things to him – taken the last fried chicken basket in the lunch line when they were right next to each other, told Kyle his shirt reminded him of the elderly home, and he had told everyone in first hour that he wasn't into sports because they were for fags. Granted, Tucker himself had a boyfriend – Tweek – but it still wasn't okay to insult sports. Every day the other tried making Stan's life hell in the weirdest ways – he was sick of his bullying. Craig had looked right at Stan when he said sports were for fags, too. They shared a lot of classes together, which led to Stan's latest attempt to aggravate the other – and probably resulted in the straw that broke the camel's back.

Stan had stayed after school with a permanent marker and a vendetta to be had. He had located Craig's locker, drawn a middle finger and the words, "Fuck the Authority" on it. Usually it wouldn't have been taken seriously, but he had stolen a page of Tucker's notes from History so he could match the handwriting – which led to Tucker being accused of vandalism. It was his second serious offense, and now he was down to one last chance before he was expelled. And Stan was entirely responsible. It wouldn't have turned out so bad if Stan hadn't made the remark after Tucker asked him about it, "And I'll do it again, let's see if they expel you, Tucker."

Craig hadn't appreciated Stan's sarcasm. Tucker hadn't really detected it at all, so he decided to push Stan down a flight of stairs ten minutes before school ended; an act which was partially seen by a hall monitor. And when they ended up in the principal's office, the two of them; Stan was asked if Craig pushed him down the steps. Knowing that it would get the other expelled, he didn't say anything at all – which led to the principal telling them that they would be interrogated about the matter tomorrow. And it led to their scheduled fight. Tomorrow morning.

Now Stan was left to stare at the ceiling, almost two hours before he had to start getting ready for his class. And it was torture. His body ached from the fall, and he couldn't fathom what he would say to the principal. To get Tucker expelled, and be done with him – or lie, and be antagonized by his very presence. Or not say anything, and suffer the consequences of his decision. There weren't many options for him to choose, and none of them sounded that satisfactory at all.

"Fucking Tucker." He muttered under his breath as he grabbed his iPhone off of his nightstand, unlocking it and sending Kyle a text.

**- Can't sleep.**

Barely a minute had passed before Kyle shot back a text that read,

**- Yeah? You okay? Heard about Tucker. You should really just lie about it and let us finish senior year without the angst, dude.**

Stan's eyebrows knit together when he read Kyle's text. …was he seriously implying that he was the cause of the angst? Or was Stan reading the message wrong? Either way, he replied,

**- Dude. Tucker started it. He should be expelled.**

Turning off his phone because he was afraid Kyle would answer with reason, he stared off towards the ceiling again. Goddamnit, tomorrow was going to suck. A lot.

* * *

"Zis is strange…very strange."

Christophe muttered to himself as he stared off towards the street from the ledge he was perched on all fours like a cat. At first, he thought the staggering figure was intoxicated, or drugged. But the longer he watched the figure the more his paranoia was beginning to get the better of him. With his lips pursed tightly shut, he silently observed the figure, arriving at the conclusion that only made sense: the person was not a person. His hand twitched instinctively to grab his mosquito, the tiny gun he kept on his belt which was equipped with a silencer. His aim was steady as he shot down the bloody figure – at first in the chest. When it slowly rose again he aimed for the head and put it down.

In the darkness, he glanced down the street, spotting a mob of the same creatures not too far off at the horizon line of the street.

"Fuck."

Situations like these were why he didn't sleep.

* * *

"So I was like, dude. Stoley. Just give me the taco I ordered, bro. And he was like, 'Are you going to make fun of me in biology again, Donovan?' And I was like, no, no, I won't bro, I promise. AND HE BELIEVED ME. Hahahahaha I totally laughed at him when he had to say the word bubbie virginanus or whatever. Horned owl my ass. It's not even on the test why did he know that."

Bebe rolled her eyes as she slammed her locker shut, and then her patient response arrived after Clyde finished laughing, "It's Bubo Virginianus, and it's the scientific word for Horned Owl and it is on the test. But very funny Clyde. Hey, are you going to the parking lot? Red said that Tucker's going to fight Marsh. Aren't you and Tucker friends?"

"It is…? And oh yeah, we're best bros, we've like got this hardcore bromance," Clyde replied calmly, shrugging. "But Craig's going to win anyways so I don't know why he needs me to cheer him on. He knows I'm his number one fangirl."

"Heh," Bebe chuckled as she held out her arm for Clyde to link with hers after she slung her book bag onto her shoulder. "Come on, virgin anus."

"Awww, Bebe, I'm not the virgin anus, Kevin is," Clyde whined as he obediently looped his arms in hers, starting to walk off with the shorter blond girl. He had a smile on the edge of his lips though, happy that Bebe didn't yell at him for teasing Kevin. This was why she was his favorite person ever.

* * *

The parking lot was full of people. It was hard for Bebe to weasel her way through with the not-so-amble Clyde, who stumbled over a few feet and hit Dougie in the face at some point – he mumbled sorry, but he was grinning so she figured he didn't mean it. Finally reaching where Wendy was, she frowned at how nervous the other was.

"Hey Wendy," She said as she came up next to her, her eyes focused on a tense Tucker and an aggravated looking Marsh. They were a few feet away from the crowd, hiding behind Marsh's truck. "Did it start, or are they just making out before they get physical?"

"I don't know." Wendy muttered as she stared at Stan, her eyebrows arched in concern. "I just got out here a few minutes ago, and they've been behind the truck this whole time."

"Well maybe they're resolving it," Bebe responded without much hesitation, and jumped a little when she heard Clyde snort at her comment.

"Yeah right. Craig hates Stan, there's no way he would be resolving it. He's probably telling Marsh how much the hospital bill will ring up to when he's done with him." Clyde said rather confidently, grinning as he nudged Bebe playfully. "Hey babe, I'm going to go talk to Token before class starts. I'll talk to you later." He leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek, which was received with an honest smile on her glossy lips. Blushing as he walked away into the crowd, she wrapped an arm around Wendy, rubbing the other's shoulder.

"Look, don't worry about it Wendy – Stan's gotten into bigger fights than this. And you're on a break, stop worrying so much over him."

Wendy sighed, her pale blue eyes flitting over to Bebe's emerald ones. "I know. And I really shouldn't be out here even, but…"

"But you still care," Bebe finished her friend's sentence, her eyes falling on Craig and Stan again. Whatever they were talking about was really intense, because Stan was motioning angrily while Craig stared at the other as if he were insane. Which probably wasn't far from the truth. "I know, Wendy. But the break isn't forever if you decide you want to be with him again…"

"I know."

"Goddamnit, fuck," Tweek cursed behind Wendy, making her jump as she glanced over her shoulder at him. Did he just walk up now or what? He was shaking, trying to stay hidden behind Wendy but at the same time was intensely watching the two at the truck. "I can't fucking believe – nngh – this, Craig said he wouldn't…fuck! He lied, agh."

"Lied?" Wendy asked curiously, looking at Tweek.

"I'm done with this, nn-not going to get into it," Tweek muttered as he disappeared into the crowd again, one hand in his tangled hair.

* * *

"Look, Marsh," Craig said as he kept his eyes steadily on Stan's, his gaze unnervingly penetrating. His body was tense because he wanted to punch Marsh in the face for getting them where they were – he was so sick of Marsh fawning over his very existence. He wasn't even sure what lead to him painting or marking up his locker with whatever fucking permanent medium he used. But now he had to deal with him, regardless if he wanted to or not. He couldn't handle his parents finding out he was expelled his senior year – he was so close to being thrown out at home too, and he couldn't find a job yet to support himself.

"I don't want this fight, okay? I…I really want to fucking scrape your face on the pavement, but look, Marsh. I want to graduate and get the fuck out of this town, and if I don't, I'm going to end up in a gutter."

"Well that sucks, but you should've thought about that before you kept bullying me, Tucker."

"I don't – ugh, fuck - look, Marsh," Craig said in his aggravation, his muscles rigid. "I don't want a fight. I'm trying to tell you-"

"You're wussing out. That's what you're telling me. Can't punch a person but can make their life living hell, huh? You afraid?"

"I'm not afraid. I'm just trying to tell you-" Craig began, but Stan cut him off, his hand raised.

"Come on. Punch me. Punch me like you said you would."

"I don't know why you are fucking hounding me but fucking A, Marsh – I'm trying to tell you I'm…" His throat closed at the word, and he couldn't get it out. He was never good at this sort of thing, and any sort of confrontation made him want to walk off. Especially if he was trying to end it maturely.

"I'm not hounding you. You're hounding me. You've got some fucking nerve Tucker, telling me I started this. What the hell." Stan's eyes narrowed as he peered up at Craig.

"Stop instigating a fight, Marsh! I'm trying to talk!"

"You're trying to get out of it. I know. Fuck you, Tucker. I'm reporting you."  
"Marsh – Fuck! Fuck you, seriously, you are the biggest fucking little prick in this school. Just because you're hidden in a fucking closet doesn't mean you have to fucking badger the people who are comfortable wit-"

"I'm not gay. What, you want me to be?"

"You're – fuck. You're impossible. I'm done. Report me. Do whatever you fucking want. I don't care." Craig seethed heatedly, his entire body shaking as he tried to calm himself mentally. Think of something pleasant. Don't hit Marsh, there's probably teachers out here, there's probably a goody-two-shoes teachers assistant who could witness the hit – he really didn't want this anymore. He tried resolving it. Fuck it.

Turning on his heel, he walked off towards the school, hearing Stan shout, "Chicken!"

He felt someone poke him harshly as he walked through the doors, and he glanced behind him at Tweek. With a frown, he stared at the other apathetically even though he wanted to convey how he was frustrated to him. "Hey Tweek,"

"D-Don't hey Tweek me," Tweek exclaimed loudly, his lanky frame shaking as he made his hands into fists. "Y-you said you wouldn't – nnh- fucking fight anymore, that's why I said yes to dating you – fuck you, Craig."

"Tweek, look, I'm sorry," Craig felt a dark feeling in the pit of his stomach as he stared at Tweek, his face contorting in what appeared to be anger even though he was truthfully horrified that Tweek had seen his confrontation with Marsh. "Tweek, it wasn't a fight, Marsh is just on my case again. You know he has this sick obsession with me."

"R-right, and you would risk eve-everything for it.." Tweek choked on his words, his eyes welling up with tears as he rolled his eyes and said, "I-I drank three pots of coffee this morning after I got an e-mail fr-from Red about your fucking fight, you didn't even tell me…"

"Tweek…your heart condition…" Craig said quietly, a pained expression now etched in his pointy features. "Tweek, you're not supposed to be drinking that much co-…"

"D-Don't act like you're fucking concerned about me, Craig, w-we're fucking done." The quivering blond ran a hand through his hair as he pushed his way through the doors, disappearing quickly down the hall. Craig stared at the receding figure, his mouth partially open.

* * *

Mr. Ballsaque rapped on Clyde's desk, startling the boy awake. With a sleepy-eyed look on his cherub-like face, Clyde grumbled a curse under his breath as he watched Mr. Ballsaque point towards Butters. "Butters, can you list the countries in South America?"

"Yessiree Mr. Ballsaque. Let's see, there's um, Chile, and…"

The countries Stotch listed off immediately began to be tuned out by Tucker, who was hunched over his desk with an uninterested look on his face. On the outside, he was composed and calm. On the inside, he was pretty sure he was now dead. He wished he could go home and cry into his sheets, but his hardened exterior kept him from expressing his emotions here or at home. Any weakness was tucked far away into his inner self, but when he hurt – he could feel it as if someone was gripping his heart in an iron maiden and he didn't like it. No, this feeling made him feel sick, and he just wanted to be curled up on a couch with Tweek and be watching some old b-rated horror movies with him. He wanted to see him jump when a tacky twist is brought up in the film. He wanted to feel him press against him as the other sought out the safety that Craig felt he brought him. Craig knew he would never be able to tell Tweek how he really felt, and it was making him sink even further to his looming depression. If only someone could tell how sad he was normally from troubles at home, how he liked being close to others but didn't know how, how he wanted to say I love you to people he loved…

"Tucker, please report to the principal's office," The intercom blared, and he felt the eyes on him before he even came back from his daydreaming. With a sigh, he got up from his desk and took the familiar walk of shame out of the door without so much as a flinch. He didn't really care about this. He cared about Tweek. Now nothing else seemed to matter so much.

His feet echoed in the empty halls as he walked towards the office. It wasn't that far, but far enough that he was left alone with his thoughts again as his strolled along. The dark feeling was still hanging on his heart like a pendulum, and he couldn't bring himself to care really where he was walking. Soon he had walked right past the office, and was heading towards the end of the school with the gym and an exit. He wasn't intending on leaving – his intentions were to continue walking until his legs gave out, somewhere hopefully hundreds of miles away from everything he ever knew, from everyone he gave two shits about. Maybe then the feeling would die inside of him at the same time as his organs would give out from starvation and thirst.

As he approached the doors to the exit, he froze. There was something walking towards him. He couldn't really see at first because a strange shadow engulfing it, as if it were giving off negative light. The tiny hairs on his arms rose, and he stood mesmerized by what he was seeing for a second, not sure what exactly he was viewing. It was so close…too close.

Far too close.

Before he could push it off, he heard someone yell, "DUCK!" He crouched down, his long arms protecting his head as he heard something whizz by his cranium. A soccer ball hit the bleeding mess in the face – and with a sickening crunch of the nose cartilage breaking off into its brain, it fell into a heap on the floor. Craig's eyes were wide with surprise as he turned to look at Stan, who was shaking where he stood in his soccer cleats.

"Tucker, I…Tucker…" He stammered, his voice shaking as he stood, his arms limp. Craig stood up and walked over to the other, staring at him for a moment before he said,

"Shut up, Marsh."

The words weren't exactly delivered as harshly as they were in their earlier confrontation. The venom they had carried earlier had dissipated. Stan stared at him with his eyes fearful, his features still decorated with panic.

"We need to secure the school." Craig stated, his hand going out to catch Stan's arm as he dragged him down the hall. "Let's get the chairs from the music room – we need to get these doors blocked."

In some sort of silent mutual agreement, Stan followed after the other without questioning him.

They had barely lugged out three chairs from the vacant music room and secured the doors before Stan muttered, "Look at the sky." Craig glanced back into the music room, his eyes focused on the sky. It was painted red. It wasn't the comforting red of the varying hues of orange and yellow during a morning sunrise or an evening sunset; it was deep blood red. His stomach contorted as he motioned for Stan to follow him, which the other did without complaining. After a minute of walking through the halls to the class with Tweek, Stan ranted out loud, "We need to find Kyle- god, what IS that irritating noise?"

Craig looked at him skeptically, and then focused. What was Marsh hearing? It sounded almost like the hum of a broken computer fan – extremely loud white noise. With a frown, he walked a few steps before he realized it was coming from the intercom. "…oh." He muttered, and then turned to Stan and said, "We need to get people out, I don't think the school is safe…" If the white noise was coming from the intercom – the principal's office was compromised. "Quick, we need to get out bro," He took off running, and Stan followed suit.

"Kyle's in AP English right now, we're going the wrong way-"

"I need to find Tweek," Craig insisted. "He's in Biology right now, those classes are both upstairs, let's go."

Doors creaked open as students funneled into the hallways, confused expressions on their face. Craig noticed it was the ones who were on the side of the school with the windows- and then the inner classrooms started opening too. He was pushing through the crowd, Stan barely at his heels as they tried to fight their way up the stairwell. Suddenly the confused atmosphere turned into panic, which turned into a stampede for the exits. The white noise was deafening as they shoved their way through the students, and Craig finally reached the classroom. Tweek was nowhere to be found. "Fuck!" Craig yelled, turning on his heel to look at Stan – who was standing on his toes to try and see over the crowd as he held onto Craig's fallen hood. "We need to find Tweek," Stan wasn't paying attention. The other was on his phone – it figured. With pent up anger, Craig hissed, "What the fuck are you doing, Marsh?"

"Kyle's waiting outside his classroom – AP English –"

"I haven't found Tweek, we're not taking fucking time to get through this fucking crowd with Tweek somewhere else- " His blood boiled as he watched Stan stare back at him, clearly terrified and hopelessly. Goddamnit, why did he have to get stuck with Marsh of all people?

"OH MY GOD CRAIG!" A familiar voice shouted within extremely close range, making Craig cringe. He looked over at Clyde, who was being followed by Kevin – who clearly had used his Biology book as a weapon since it was covered in blood. Throwing his arms around Craig, Clyde sobbed openly into his shoulder as he said with emotion, "Craig, oh my god, I…I tried to get Tweek to follow but he took off with Token, and…"

"Clyde, you've got to get your arms off of me, we have to move, the school isn't safe," Craig said forcefully, though his arms wrapped around Clyde securely. "Come on, bro."

"Craig – I have to – I have to-"

"Have to what, Clyde?" Craig asked calmly.

"I have to pee but the zombies are in the bathroom Craig, they saw me pissing, and I was so scared man, I was trying to relieve myself but no – these fuckers – they're fuckers, Craig! God, what if they get Bebe," Clyde sobbed, and Stan glared at him as he said to Craig, "He needs to gather his shit before we get killed,"

"Oh, leave him alone, he's usually like this," Craig spat at Stan, his eyes narrowed as he patted Clyde. "Come on bro, we have to get moving." Kevin stared at the interaction with little interest as he checked the upstairs hallway – it took Craig a moment to realize the nerd was probably noticing how vacant it now was. Literally. There wasn't anyone around. The feeling of impending doom made him shove Clyde away gently and he looked his sobbing friend in the eyes.

"Look, Clyde, I'll protect you, okay? Bebe's safe. We'll find her. But we need to get somewhere safe so we can sleep tonight, ok? Just like Dead Rising, okay?"

"I h-hate that game, Craig,"

"I know, bro, I know," he patted Clyde on the shoulder comfortingly, his eyes falling on the stairwells. "Everyone text who they have on their lists, we're going to find who we can and then get the fuck out of here."

Stan looked back down at his phone, and realized he hadn't responded to Kyle's text. There were three more blinking from Kyle – he loaded them and then noticed he had said his location changed – he was now in a car with Token, Bebe, Red, Wendy and Tweek. "Tweek and Bebe are safe," He said out loud, even though in his head he was relieved at seeing Wendy and Kyle in the same spot. Why? He wasn't really sure…just somehow, they were safe. Together.

"Have we decided to call those things zombies?" Kevin asked, as if he wanted clarification. Stan stared at the other with a distant look, and Craig replied, "Yeah, I think so. I mean, they looked dead to me, and they had blood all over them…"

"The one I saw had an arm off." Kevin stated with interest, as if he were talking about the weather. Clyde let out another sob, clinging to Kevin's arm.

"Okay, here's the plan. We have to get out right away, okay, let's take the stairs over behind the school."

"Hey, dudes," Stan turned to see Kenny standing behind him, smiling. For a moment, everyone was quiet, staring at the new arrival in a dumbfounded silence.

"….Kenny. Why the fuck are you smiling?" Stan said finally with a bit of fire in his voice, his eyes narrowed as he said, "Dude, I just saw someone get their head ripped off when I was out on the soccer field, and you come up smiling behind me? Everyone just ran out of the fucking school! Kenny, what the fuck dude!"

"Whoa, Stan, dude, calm down – "

"No, I'm not going to calm down, Kenny, stop fucking smiling! This isn't a fucking field day, okay!" Kenny stared at Stan in awe as the other pocketed his phone so he could wave his hands around in his rage. "There's dead people everywhere and it's fucking terrifying dude-"

"Okay, break up the lovers spat," Craig said, stepping away from Clyde to shove Stan and Kenny away from each other. "Marsh, calm your fucking jazz hands and Ken, stop smiling, it's not funny. I don't care if you're fucking high man, you don't smile when we have to secure a safe haven during the apocalypse, okay? Now everyone calm their fucking tits. Whoever has a locker in this hallway, go open it and see if you can get some supplies for us – I don't know when the next time we'll have access to food or water will be." As he watched Stan scoff and walk down the hallway to open his locker, his heart started beating extremely fast – but why? Why was he feeling dizzy all of a sudden? Pushing the thought out of his head, he stood next to Ken and Clyde as Kevin joined Stan in emptying his locker into his backpack.

"Okay, now if it's okay with everyone," Craig glared at everyone in turn, "Get whatever heavy objects you can see in the next few classrooms so we can get outside. Marsh, do you have the keys to your truck?"

"Yeah, I got them out of my locker," Stan said, staring at Tucker.

"Good, we'll use that as a getaway car. We don't know what's outside though." Craig stared at the clocks, noting the time: 11:11. Was that bad luck or good luck? Ignoring that as well, he motioned for the rest of them to follow him to the emergency exit near the elevator. They were silent as they descended cautiously down the steps, Kenny bringing up the rear and Craig at the lead. Kenny had armed himself with the arm from a paper cutter – the blade shone in the dim lighting of the stairwell. Kevin still held his thick bloody biology book, and Clyde held a globe, with Stan holding a baseball bat he had retrieved from his locker. Craig had an axe he had retrieved from one of the fire hydrant emergency cases. They reached the bottom of the stairwell – an enclosed spot where one door led to the inside of the school, and the other led to the parking lot out back. Out of curiosity, Craig motioned for everyone to stay quiet as he pressed the bar on the door to release the lock to peer inside.

The inside was littered with bodies, some moving, some still.

He felt one of his party over his shoulder as he heard Kevin mutter, "Well that escalated quickly," With a glare, he shut the door quickly and turned to Kevin. "Seriously? What does this," He motioned to be quiet again, "Mean to you? It doesn't mean fucking speak, Stoley, it means stay the fuck quiet."

"Sorry," Kevin said apologetically, frowning.

"Yeah. You should be." Craig said heatedly, his eyes still narrowed. "Okay, now, we're all going to take that door over there – let's stay in the order we were coming down the stairwell, okay? If we have to separate for any reason- "

"Jesus Christ we have to separate?! CRAIG, YOU KNOW I CAN'T SEPARATE-"

"Calm your tits, bro, you can stay glued to my back okay," Craig said with exhaustion, rolling his eyes as he walked over to the door. "Just stay close, okay?"

"Okay…" Clyde replied quietly.

Craig shoved open the door, letting the red hue of the sky flood their vision.


	3. Chapter 3 - Christophe's Group

"Gregory, what is ze plan." Christophe leaned over the taller blond, his eyes locked on the radio Gregory was toying with on the table. They were in the basement, where the lights flickered occasionally, creating a perhaps more eerie atmosphere than outside with the ruby sky. Static was bouncing off the walls, emitted from the device as Gregory surfed the channels for any broadcasts regarding the strange creatures now inhabiting the area.

"I don't know, Christophe. Please back away so I can concentrate. Did you secure the upstairs?" Gregory said, not removing his dark eyes from the radio.

"Of course, do you think I am a fool? Pfft. Oui. But if I 'ad not stayed at your place zos 'omeless bastards wouldn't 'ave gotten my rations in zis basement. Zat is the last time I will let you convince me to stay ze night at your place. Zen zis 'appens."

"If the windows weren't boarded up like it was an abandoned house I'm sure no one would have entered. But I can't say I'm disappointed at the boarded up windows, since that is protecting us from those creatures outside…shhhh, really, Christophe. Isn't there something else you could be doing right now?" Gregory grumbled, his eyes tired as he turned back to what sounded like a reception. Nothing.

"Oui, I will go upstairs and stare out of ze window at ze chaos while drinking a cup of your Elbert Gay tea." Christophe said crossly, and Gregory rolled his eyes.

"Earl Grey, Tophe."

"Oui, zat."

"If you're going upstairs, please make me a cup of tea before we lose power." He turned, pursing his lips together – Christophe leaned down and pecked the other on his lips, even if he looked a bit angry as he did it. Walking upstairs, he checked the door again – the garage was sealed, the back door was barred – windows sealed with pieces of old fence. He would have to go to the second floor to actually see outside. But the sound of groaning made him grumble as he fetched the tea kettle; cursing at the fact he knew where it was, and how to use it. Damn that British bastard.

"Making zis fucking tea for zat prick," Christophe grumbled with his eyes half-lidded as he put the water on the stove and turned the knob. "Zis is bull sheet. I should piss in zis kettle and make him drink it." He glanced over at the box of tea near the stove, neatly lined up with the other boxes of tea. "Oh…zat is depressing, we are out of Earl Grey. Gregory, we are out of Earl Grey – do you have a preference?" He called down to the cellar, and Gregory shouted back,

"Chamomile is fine, dear,"

"Oui I will use zat zen," Christophe called back, walking back to the kitchen with a mutter. "Taking orders like a bitch, zis is humiliating and degrading, might as well be a dog out in ze yard with a collar around my neck barking at ze cars rolling by…"

He picked out the chamomile tea bag, and then stared at the kettle, waiting for it to whistle. Leaning against the stove, he thought about the zombies outside. Having shot down around twenty this morning alone before he fled to find Gregory, he had his own reservations about how they would now be living as the targeted species. Gregory seemed hopeful to find communication with others outside- he was tinkering around with that radio all afternoon, and now as the darkness encased the house, Christophe was feeling rather lonely and now his worries were more clear with the time he had to think. Without a lot of food left from the damned homeless ransacking his lovely abandoned-looking house, he was worried about Gregory starving. The British boy was delicate, and he knew he was okay for a few weeks without food. He was strong. Gregory was not. The windows he was sure were secure, but what if a mob of those creatures invaded? It was also a concern that the power would eventually go off. Without power, he would have a very grumpy Gregory to deal with – Gregory's electric razor was his best friend and he loved warm showers. All of this was disconcerting to Christophe, and as the kettle pot whistled he sighed and looked for a mug.

"Make sure to remove the pot from the stove, we don't want to advertise our whereabouts with that whistle, Tophe,"

"Oui, I know," He yelled back to the other as he poured the water in the mug. "Fucking ordering me around like a peon in ze army, like I am a child…pfft, 'e asked for ze fucking tea in ze first place and now he asks me to quiet ze pot. Hypocrite. Next 'e will ask me to sprout wings and magically fly over ze zombies outside on a colorful rainbow all ze way to 'is lovely England where zeir farts smell of cotton candy and zombies do not exist."

Gregory had climbed the steps after he heard the whistling, but stood on the stairwell with a smile on his face as he listened to Christophe bitch to himself in the kitchen. He never told Christophe he listened to his bitchfits. It was something he kept to himself because he relished in knowing Christophe cared enough to keep the bitching down when they were together. Walking the rest of the way up the stairs as he listened, he came up behind Christophe as the other stirred the spoon in his tea.

"Zen everything will be 'appy and 'e can 'ave 'is Elbert Gay tea. Zere will be nozzing for 'im wiz me if 'e is in England. Mozzerfucking England, full of stuck up prats who bitch about everything zere is in ze world yet do nozzing about it…"

"Is my tea ready?" Gregory said quietly as he wrapped his arms around Christophe's waist, pressing himself against the shorter Frenchman's backside as he smiled. Christophe growled irately as he felt Gregory behind him, and promptly headbutted the other as he felt him get in close. Gregory dodged it narrowly, but went back to pressing against the other's backside a moment later when he had put down the spoon.

"What are you doing now, I do not even get a warning if you are going to sneak up on me. What a fucking bastard." His defenses were always down around Gregory – which was why he hadn't heard the other sneak up behind him.

"There there, Tophe…you know I love you, correct?" Gregory whispered as he kissed the back of Christophe's head, slowly kissing down his neck as he nuzzled his ear. Christophe bowed his head slightly, focusing his eyes on the kettle that was cooling off on an inactive burner. Putting a hand on Gregory's where his were wrapped around Christophe's waist; he smiled as he replied,

"Oui, but you are ze biggest bitch about it."

((Note: This chapter was longer, but I feel uncomfortable posting sex scenes. If people want it back in I'll consider throwing it back in there...


	4. Chapter 4 - Token's Group

"Tweek, if you keep inhaling the coffee my supply is going to be out by 2014."  
"S-Sorry Token I'm ju-just fucking- fucking zombies, god!"  
Leaning over the disheveled looking blond, Token rubbed his shoulders with his fingertips and thumbs. "Just calm down so Wendy can think, she's going to come over here pretty soon and-"  
"No, I'm fine." Wendy had her eyes fixed to the laptop screen, across the table from them. "Hey Token - I think I found a few aerial views in your web history, from google maps...How accurate they are I don't know. Since the internet isn't working anymore...let me print this out. Uh, does the generator support..."  
"Yeah, it supports it, just don't flip on a lot at once," Kyle called from the kitchen, his head peeking out from the door frame into the dining area. Even in the darkness, his normally tamed red hair was unruly and bright. "Are we going out?"  
"Well, I don't know. I feel like the right think to do is to study this area here, where the WallMart is. But if we go out we're going to need to take the Hummer, and I don't know how safe it is outside the gates. I mean, we could theoretically mow down a few zombies if we put spikes on the front..."  
Tweek jumped suddenly, spilling some coffee and startling Token.  
"Bro, you okay?" Token said with concern, and Tweek looked towards the table, his eyes red. Truthfully, he hadn't taken his medications for his heart for the past week - and sometimes he felt intense pain especially when he was nervous. This whole ordeal had made him extremely jumpy and he couldn't stop thinking about Craig. He had left his phone in his locker- and who the fuck remembered phone numbers anymore? Of course, Token had told him he tried Craig twice but didn't get a response.  
Thinking Craig was dead made his heart hurt the most, he thought.  
"Yeah, Token, I'm f-fine..."  
"Who wants some soup?" Bebe said cheerfully as she walked out of the kitchen past Kyle, her eyes fixed on Token as she moved towards the table.  
"If we go out I'm worried we're going to run into trouble because we don't know what's out there. I mean, it took us just a week to board up the windows and figure out our food supply. We could potentially waste a lot of time trying to scout out more supplies..."  
"When the water goes off we're only going to have enough to last us about three months, Wendy." Kyle leaned on the door frame of the kitchen, eyes tired. Obviously he had been the one trusted with the math, with limited help from Token. For some reason, Token was more focused on the soup Bebe had just brought out, and he smiled graciously at her as he took it gingerly from her hands.  
"Wow, it's hot." He declared as he set it on the table next to Tweek, sitting down next to him.  
"Yeah, sizzling. Careful, it's right off the stove." Bebe said through half-lidded eyes, despite the flickering of the dining room light - it didn't seem to startle her.  
Kyle rolled his eyes. "Wendy?" he said, leaving little room between his comment and Bebe's description of the soup.  
"I think if we go out, we should just have two people go. It's easier to maneuver if we're not constantly worrying about losing half of our party...and we can keep in touch by radios if we have to separate. I think I should go, I have a black belt in karate."  
"Karate is a close-proximity fighting technique, Wendy, is that really that smart?" Kyle followed her comment skeptically, and Wendy sent him a glare.  
"Well, Broflovski, what defensive arts have you taken."  
"Uh- well I've-okay, I've had some strange stuff happen to me, and...I know how to use weapons, at least. Uh, maybe not guns. I can just use a chainsaw or something."  
Everyone paused, looking towards Kyle.  
"A f-fucking chainsaw?! Dude!"  
"Well it's not like we have a lot of choice - the tool shed is off limits, we have Token's garages!"  
"Okay, Wendy's a black belt, and I know how to operate a few guns and I've taken defense training. Wendy, should we be the first team?" Token questioned, and Wendy nodded. Meanwhile, Kyle had disappeared back into the kitchen, cursing under his breath. It was obvious who was calling the shots here- every time Token needed something, he had it. Not to mention, Kyle was sleeping in the guest room near Token's and had to listen to his midnight meetings with Bebe. No one else seemed bothered by Token's raging display of testosterone - Tweek just talked to himself and ran around looking through cracks in the boards, peering outside like someone was going to come who he was looking for. Grabbing a mug from the cupboard, he lifted the coffee pot and poured some in the mug before he sipped it cautiously, his pale fingers enjoying the warmth. When the generators ran out in a year, they'd really be screwed. Not to mention they hadn't had contact with anyone - were they the soul survivors of South Park? A week had passed. A whole week. He tried making a signal for anyone using a radio, but it didn't catch on - no answers. Token didn't seem phased - he just enjoyed flirting with Bebe and occasionally gazing at Wendy like she was available. ...well, she was available, but Kyle felt like it was just a little too soon for her to be over her mourning for Stan. Not to say he was dead- but...after a week without contact, Kyle felt like a piece of him had withered. Stan always found him, and now ...  
"Goddamn fucking..." It surprised him to think about Kenny and Cartman just now - he hadn't heard from any of them, but Stan had been on his mind the most. Cartman?  
"...Cartman is probably still fucking living. That douchebag always finds a way to survive, he's like a cockroach." He frowned as he thought about Eric, his eyes averted to the insides of his coffee mug. He didn't really despise Cartman, and in fact at this very moment (most likely because Eric wasn't pestering him) he almost felt like he missed him. ...Almost.  
"Soup's on the stove," Bebe said as she set down an empty bowl in the sink, and went to dish up two more. Kyle watched her with a stone cold expression, and she pretended she didn't notice as she served up the bowls and left the kitchen again.  
He and Bebe didn't exactly get along. They had divvied up the chores a day after they got to the Black's Mansion, and she had continuously said, "Oh, no, I'm soooo bad at that. Someone else better take that job." He knew she could do it, she was just being lazy and trying to freeload. Even if it was a waste of resources, Kyle had thrown her wash in the washer with some bleach added to fade her clothes. Teach her to act like a Queen.  
"Fucking deserves it," He mumbled as he listened to the others chat in the dining room. Here he felt abnormally alone. Before this happened, he hadn't really felt alone - he thought of Token as a friend. But now, everyone pairing off - everyone had these previous connections...and Kyle's best friends weren't here.  
He really, really hoped Stan wasn't dead.


	5. Chapter 5 - Craig's Group

"Craigggggggggggggggggg, my feet are tired as fuck..." Clyde whined, trailing behind Stan. "Can we like, stop for just two seconds, so I can-"

"Shhhhh, Clyde." Craig shushed Clyde, his eyes narrowed.

"But, Craig - I'm so tired, fuck, dude it's like I want to walk but I think if we all just-"

Stan couldn't take it anymore. "Clyde, one more fucking word and I'm going to come back-"

"SHHH." Craig reached over and put his hand forcefully on Stan's mouth, cutting him off. Stan glared at the taller boy, his body rigid with tenseness. They had taken a shortcut through the woods, it seemed like the zombie-like creatures avoided already dark and creepy areas. Clyde had already been lulled in a sense of false security since they hadn't run into anything in awhile, but Craig was livid with how much noise he could put off in the matter of seconds. If it wasn't a fucking fart, it was a fart followed by, "Guys, we're being followed by a duck...did you hear that one, Craig."

Craig's dark eyes peered through the darkness into the cluster of trees nearby. There had been something moving, something other than them. He wasn't imagining it- he was on hyper alert, his body ready to fight if the opportunity presented itself. When a few minutes passed in silence, he removed his hand from Stan's face and then wiped the moisture from Stan's mouth on the other's shirt and quietly turned and continued to lead.

"Where are we fucking going, Tucker?"

"Are we going to live in the trees?" Kevin asked offhandedly, and Clyde snickered and added, "We could call ourselves the Woodies."

"No, we're not living in the fucking trees- look, if we take this path, it connects to downtown, and we can get to the stores there. It's less crowded and we have a better chance at getting somewhere safe. We already had a fucking brawl with like five other fucking swarms so just humor me, Marsh."

Stan sighed. "Yeah, humoring you. But we haven't eaten since that 711."

"I don't know, that was more than I usually eat..." Kenny muttered under his parka, grinning behind it. Maybe the reason they didn't think he was an asshole was because they couldn't tell he was laughing when they made serious comments.

"I know, but this is going to take longer - we just have to...goddamnit, I'm not sorry Marsh - you were the one who lost the fucking truck."

"It wasn't my fucking fault it ran out of gas!" Stan retorted coldly, halting his walk. Clyde almost ran right into him, looking at him oddly as he watched Craig turn around on his heel.

"It was your fucking fault it ran out of gas - we had passed that gas station and you white-knuckled the wheel and said 'WE'RE DRIVING UNTIL WE'RE SAFE' and NOW look where we are! In the middle of the fucking forest because you took us like two fucking miles out and in the middle of a fucking moshpit of fucking brain-eaters!"

"Fuck you, Tucker! I was fucking scared - all we've done these past few fucking days is fucking walk and hear Clyde bitch and moan! I can't even fucking think about- well about Kyle, or Wendy - or fuck, even my family!"

"You think I haven't- ...wait." Craig stopped abruptly, glancing to the side at a shrub as he thought. ...why he felt so fucking empty as they walked...Oh, fuck. He had walked a fucking week. Without thinking once of Ruby. Not once. Maybe he had been surpressing it - knowing he would be rendered complete fucking useless if he knew he was walking around without knowing where his little sister was. "...oh fuck...Ruby..."

Kenny froze, his eyes widening. "Oh, fuck. Karen."

"You guys seriously haven't thought about your- see! Fucking A, all we hear is about Clyde's shit!" Glaring angrily at Clyde, the brunette's mouth fell open and he put up his hands defensively.

"Come on, I didn't cause you guys to have fucking Alzhemie-ers or something, fucking brain loss amnesia bullshit - that's your own fault!"

Kenny moved past their group, now jogging down the poorly beaten path.

"Kenny, where the fuck are you going?" Stan called out, trying to strain to keep his voice at a reasonable level. Kenny didn't respond, so Stan grabbed Craig's arm and pulled him fowards, following Kenny's orange parka as they traveled. It was going to be dark soon, they couldn't stay here.

* * *

By the time night fell, they had already been cloaked in the darkness of the trees as the sun disappeared a half an hour earlier. Now the opening to the forest was visible, and so was the glistening of windows in the light given off by the blood red moon. Kenny had slowed to a sensible pace, and now they were gathered near the entrance, staring at the flooded street. If the bodies weren't walking, they were like road blocks lying in lumps in the road.

"That's...that's a fucking lot of dead people, guys," Clyde pointed out the obvious, his eyes open wide in terror.

"No fucking duh Clyde...okay, do you see that shop right there?" Stan whispered, gesturing towards the tall building on the right, with a few zombies ambling past the door. "That's my Uncle Jimbo's gun shop."

"I don't care where you guys go, I'm going to go find Karen," Kenny said loudly, and pushed his way out into the path opening. Stan felt a wave of sickness as he watched Kenny walk out in the open, his hand reaching out but not catching the other in time. With a loud hiss, he said, "Kenny, get the fuck back here!"

"I can't die anyways," Kenny called back, holding out his arms as he backed away backwards towards the zombies.

"Kenny, don't be a fucking artard, get the fuck back here you cocksucking maniac!" Craig said, trying to disguise his voice in a whisper but it came off as a loud growl.

Kenny flipped Craig off, and then turned and started off into the flurry of zombies without so much as a flinch.

"He's gone fucking insane," Clyde said as Stan ran his hand through his hair, his eyes wild.

As the others growled and whined for him to return, Kenny pushed through the crowd as the zombies grabbed at him. At first he wasn't concerned with the roughhousing- the undead didn't scare him. But after a moment, his eyesight turned black from the mist they were giving off around them, and the hands continued to bombard him as he shoved through. He pushed and shoved until he was to the Rhinoplasty clinic, and then broke a window with a nearby sign and climbed through, running to the back and shutting the back compartment door, breathing heavily with his back against the door. "Fuck, man..." He muttered as he stared at the ceiling, when he heard a slow clapping erupt next to him. He jumped, turning to look at a familiar tall lanky boy with raven-colored hair. He was sitting on the floor, his eyes fixated on the blond as he gave a couple more slow claps.

"Damien, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Fucking dying, that's what I'm fucking doing here," Damien growled irately, his eyes half-closed as he motioned with one hand to his stomach. As Kenny's eyes adjusted to the room's dim emergency lighting, he noticed the pool of blood gathered around Damien's feet. Kenny frowned, reaching up to lower his hood as he looked at Damien suspiciously.

"I thought you started this shit."

"Fuck, if I started this shit, I wouldn't be dying in this fucking shitty clinic. Fuck - I ran out of painkillers two days ago. Do you know how many fucking painkillers I need? I have an unusually high threshold for painkillers, McCormick. Ugh..."

"Why aren't you healing?"

"Ju-just fucking help me up - I'm healing slowly, I was gutted..." He held out his hand, waiting for Kenny to pull him up. Eventually Kenny moved towards him, yanking him off the floor. Damien's wound looked as if it were muscle deep now, and he was shaky as he stood. "Fucking hell demons. All went fucking insane- it was so fucking sudden, just...spread..."

"What spread?" Kenny asked, holding up Damien, his arm around his waist as he listened.

"Sickness. It's like the human's flu in hell, Kenny. Only someone created it and spread it for the soul purpose of creating havoc. And creating havoc in a place that breeds havoc and feeds off of it is really fucking low, we usually controlled...ah, don't touch there..." He breathed in quick, his hand shaking as he reached down to lessen the tightness on Kenny's hand.

"We had that controlled but something happened to my father, and I woke up in a room of zombified demons, so I took off but they pinned me...I managed to get out, but...fuck, I don't know what really happened the past few days, I couldn't heal fast so I came here, I broke in the back and passed out after injecting like fifty of those..." He gestured to the empty syringes.

"Holy fuck." Kenny muttered, rubbing Damien's shoulder.

"My powers are dwindling, I fucking hate this...this pain...I can't fucking stand-" His eyes flashed red, but he had his teeth clenched and he tightened his fists involuntarily as he cringed from the lingering pain. "Fuck..."

"...wait, Damien. If your powers are fading then..."

"Then you're probably fucked too, McCormick. No more restart button for your pitiful life, no," He smirked, even though Kenny was helping him stand. With a frown, Kenny looked over his shoulder, hearing a few zombies clawing at the back door. It was heavily enforced, but it looked like Damien had depleted the resources here. They couldn't stay.

"Look, we have a group - we need to get back to them."

"I'm not going fucking anywhere, you can fucking leave me here. I would rather fucking die then deal with whatever the fuck my father got his fucking sorry ass into. I am sick of doing his fucking bidding," Damien spat at Kenny, moving to lean against the wall, sinking back down again. "Just fucking shut the door when you leave. I want a closed coffin."

"...Fine," The blond said after a moment, heading to the back door. With one fleeting glance behind him, he pushed the door open and slid out.


	6. Chapter 6 - Christophe's Group

((WARNING: Gore, Violence, Torture, Dristophe))

Drip.

The sound of water leaking from pipes above him didn't concern Damien. He was beyond caring. The pain was swallowing him whole and making him self-aware of his nerves, so he no longer gave a shit about his environment. The maggots that had housed themselves inside his still healing wound were winning over his mending demonic flesh, and he could feel them wriggling their way through severed tissue. The same medications that helped him a day ago still coursed through his veins but he was convinced the diluted human medication didn't do shit for his body chemistry.

Why was death so slow.

Oh, he knew. This is supposed to be a torture specific to humans and creatures, not demons.

But how the tables had changed...

Because of his slowed reaction time, he didn't move when he heard scratching on the back door. Probably more of those creatures trying to work their way through the heavy iron-cast door. His mind was a whirlpool of darkness, and he hyper-focused on the thought of it as he heard someone drag a piece of metal in the lock, and heard it give an accepting click. Turning his head to look at the brightness seeping inside, he saw the outline of a lanky human with disheveled hair. A few unintelligible words were said, the shadow stepping inside and heaving the door shut, then a flashlight singed his eyes as it was directed on him.

"Tell me your name!"

"What.." Damien muttered, his voice croaking from lack of use. "What.."

A sharp kick to his abdomen made him double over, his body drowning in the sudden pain. Whimpering, he heard the figure demand something more, but the sound of ringing in his ears faded the demands into white noise. Shakily, he put his hands on his ears, his eyes shut tight as he tried to hide his face into the corner made by the wall and the floor.

"Tell me your name, putain!"

His eyes started to adjust to the dimness made by the flashlight, and he saw the face of Christophe looming over him. "T-Tophe..."

"Fuck. It's you. Merde." Christophe turned away, obviously disinterested. From the way he laid on his side on the floor, Damien watched the flashlight cascade over the cement as Christophe looked for whatever he was searching for. His hair was more than wild - it was almost savage associated with his dirt caked skin and ripped clothes. Damien opened his mouth to mutter, "Looking good", but his voice cracked up, and he fell quiet, drifting off.

Woken up by a prompt, "What ze fuck. Why are zese all empty! Fucking 'ell! Fuck! Fuck it all!" He watched as the fiery brunette turned on his heel, staring at him with a coldness he only knew from Hell. "Where are ze medications."

"...I..." Damien mumbled, his eyes narrowing out of exhaustion. Christophe darted across the room, picking Damien up by his collar and shoved him against the wall. Through bared teeth he growled,

"Where are ze fucking medicines, you fucking dog."

"Why..." Damien challenged, using his dwindling energy to force a twisted grin.

Slamming him against the wall again with a disgruntled shriek, Christophe boomed, "WHERE IS ZE FUCKING MEDICINE YOU FUCKING WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHEET!"

Groaning, Damien chuckled as his eyes almost rolled into his head, "I took...it all..."

"You...Fuck." Christophe froze, his face paling even in the dark. He let go of Damien, backing away as he stared at the empty syringes. Putting his hands on his head, he walked in a circle, then hit the wall- his fist sunk through the dry wall, cracking. Screaming, he kicked the chair next to the desk, and then flipped it as he raged. "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU ALL! I 'ATE ZIS PLACE!" He shook angrily, his body tense and tears barely being held back in his eyes as he leaned against the wall across the room, sinking down to the floor.

Putting his hands over his face, he tried forcing back unpleasant memories. Damien. Torture. He could hear shrieking of tortured souls around him still at night, which was why he never slept a full night's sleep. His body shook violently as he cried, barely noticing the blood leaking from the tears on his knuckles as result of hitting the wall. It had only been two weeks since hell began on earth, and Gregory was already sick. That medication was the only ones he could think of in this town, which meant he had to take a day long trip to find another storage unit- the Wall*mart was already ransacked, and so were several other promising sites. Everything was gone. He had severed more zombie heads than he could count, and he was almost out of shells. Still sobbing, the only thing that made him quieten was realizing that a low throaty laughter emerge from across the room, growing louder the longer he cried into his hands.

"What ze fuck are you laughing for, you fucking grotesque pile of sheet."

Damien breathed in heavily, still propped up lazily against the wall across the room. "You." He said simply, a smirk on his lips.

Christophe stared at him, barely thinking before he leapt off the floor and rushed over to Damien, grabbing him by the tattered remains of his shirt and slamming him three times into the wall before he punched him, causing the other to gasp in pain. Before he could sink down however, Christophe had yanked him up once more, breathing in the other's face as he tried to form words in his fury.

Before he could get anything out, Damien smiled sweetly and said, "Gregory dead? Shame."

That was it. Christophe couldn't handle it anymore. He hit the other repeatedly, the blood gushing out of opening wounds and old ones, scars tearing and breaking. Damien gave a pained shudder before he fainted on the floor, his new human-like form not being able to take the blows as well as he could before. His chest heaving, Christophe stared down at the other, his eyes burning with intense hatred.

"Fuck you, Antichrist." He said curtly, turning to leave before he realized something he didn't want to acknowledge. He would either be traveling a day out to another drug store ten miles off, or he would be going to his home to watch Gregory slowly suffer and most likely die. He glanced around and spotted a few antibiotics, and shoved them in Gregory's bag, which he had slung on his back earlier this morning. But the fact that Gregory needed painkillers dawned on him - breaking his wrist and suffering from infection was the worst imaginable fate for his blond heroic ass, and he couldn't bear to think he would be returning without them.

It was then that he had a sinister, dark feeling emerge inside him.

Damien said he had taken the medication. Taken.

His eyes rotated back towards Damien's defeated figure, barely noticeable in the shadows besides his sickly white skin. He grabbed the duct tape off the desk, and then walked over and wrapped it around Damien's head to block off his mouth, binding his wrists and legs before he grabbed a tarp from the closet and laid the other on it. Once he was in it, he bundled up the tarp and hauled it on his back, disappearing out the heavy door with the Antichrist in the makeshift bag on his back.


	7. Chapter 7 - Token's Group

"So if we enter from this way, we will be able to get to the storage area and we can stock up. We have about thirty minutes before I think we'd get overwhelmed. The guns have silencers but it's a matter of how good of shot we are..." Token glanced up at Kyle, who gave him a plain look of 'don't even go there'.

"Je-Jesus Cchrist, I don't know if I-I want to go..." Tweek responded fretfully, pulling at his stringy blond hair with one hand as Wendy leaned over to see the blueprints.

"That's easy." She observed, shrugging. "Token, you and I can handle this."

"Really? Okay...just the two of us then?" Token glanced up at her skeptically from where he sat at the dining room table. Kyle rolled his eyes as he glanced towards Bebe, who was glaring at Wendy. He thought their infautation with Token was ridiculous - sure, he had an impressive house, and yeah, they had a ton of water because of Token's pool, and they still had warm showers, and generators because of the Black's money - but come on. He wasn't THAT impressive. Not everyone likes washboard abs or a well defined jawline... and an excellent ass. The redhead frowned as he thought of this, and he took a step back to allow Token to get up.

"Okay, Testaburger - grab your gear, we're going out."

The car made a sickening sound as it ran over one of the zombie corpses on the way down - the streets were littered with animated dead that were crawling. Obviously there was someone else trying to mow them down. Token glanced behind him on the road instinctively, even though there wasn't another living soul assumably for miles.

He frowned as he glanced at Wendy. Her long hair was pinned back and her blue eyes were fixed on the window.

"Wendy?" He asked quietly, his heart thudding in his chest as he watched her look over, her eyes chillingly steady on his.

"Yeah?" She asked, and he shrugged and added, "Nothing, you just seem distance. You sure you're up for this? It's going to be crowded around town. We've already hit five zombies and we're getting pretty close. We're just lucky the tires can turn them into tire fodder."

"It'll be fine, Token. You sound worried," She pulled the bag on her lap open, checking inside. "I have 80 shells besides the ones in my gun, so we have to go quick." She pulled out a handgun, and rolled down the window a bit as they got closer, her eyes focused on the zombies slowly turning around, staring at their vehicle, noticing the gleam of the lights at first. The sky as they went closer to town had turned a poisonous red, making it difficult to distinguish the shadows from bodies.

The minute he blasted through the gates, she hopped out and targeted two zombies - missing the first one and getting a head shot with the second. She pushed the one she missed outside the gate with her foot, and slammed it shut again, pulling out a lock from her belt. She ran to the backyard as Token parked and she motioned for him to get the door. His movement was fluid-like - he lept down from the truck and approached the heavy loading dock door, and then hooked up the device to crack the code for the locking mechanism. It snapped after twenty seconds and they hurried inside, slamming the door shut.

"Find the lights now!" Wendy hissed, her eyes trying to focus to the darkness. She grabbed the flashlight in her bag and turned it on, and then tossed one to Token, who was glancing around.

"This room is clear...give me a few minutes, let me get the generator room." He headed towards the door, and she grabbed his shoulder quickly.

"No!"

"What, Wendy?" Token asked, giving her a skeptical look. "We won't be able to see that well in there, I need to get the lights. There's too many places for them to hide in the aisles."

"But...if you don't come back..." She said quietly, her eyes averted. He smiled shyly, edging closer to her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, kissing her forehead gingerly.

"I'll be back." He affirmed, and her eyes drifted upwards, locking on his dark ones. Without much of a pause, she pressed her lips against his and then put her arms around his neck, her hands going for his shirt buttons. He fell victim to her touch, and returned the kiss amiably as he ran his tongue along her lower lip. The lights flickered on. Pressing her up against the bar of a loading carrier, his hand wandered down her side and along the curve of her hip. The tip of his fingers entered underneath the hem of her pants, realizing she wasn't wearing underwear. He looked at her with a moment of hesitation as they breathed heavily, then he pulled her shirt over her head and threw it on the carrier. "This is bad timing,"

"I know," She whispered wryily, dragging a hand under his shirt to feel his distinct six pack with her fingertips. "But I'm a bad, bad girl, Token."

"Oh," He said with a sly smile, their faces close as his halflided eyes rested on hers. "I know." They feverishly made out, what seemed like minutes turned into a half an hour as he

BANG.

"What the fu-" Token turned, glancing towards the door to the grocery store. He rushed over with the flash light, Wendy's hand stretched out to stop him but he was moving too quick. Wretching open the door, he stormed inside, realizing the lights were on. How did he miss the lights going on...?

He walked through, not sure what he was supposed to be seeing. Then he noticed a pattern. There was nothing there. Literally everything in the small store but the hairbrushes had been stripped from the shelves.

"What...the fuck..." He looked at a sign written in red lip stick on the small front window.

"THANKS FOR THE TRUCK. HAVE FUN FUCKING WENDY TO DEATH, BLACK!"

Token's eyes widened as he read '- love, Eric' at the end of the paragraph. He heard the door creak open as Wendy walked inside, looking at the window numbly.

"He didn't." Wendy said quietly, almost tripping over a still zombie corpse.

Token paused, reading it once more, then replied.

"He did."


	8. Chapter 8 - Cartman's Group

"CAN YOU IMAGINE THEIR FACES? HAHAHAHA!"

"Eric, that was a real fun trip but don't you think that maybe we should go back and help Token and Wendy?" Butters looked down at his thumbs as he sat in the

"Ha...HAHAHA I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING! Have fun fucking Wendy to death- the bitch deserves it, hahahahaha...hah..." Eric wiped the tears from his eyes as he gripped the wheel, "Jesus fucking christ I can't remember when I laughed this- aw, fuck, I think I sharted I laughed so fucking hard! Butters, can you take care of that for me," Eric swerved suddenly to hit a walking zombie on the curb, then went back on the road with a grin on his face. "34 points."

"Uh, yeah, sure, Eric," He leaned forwards, opening the glove box and pawed through it, his blond hair in his eyes. "Uh, there's the manual for the car..."

"Butters. Butters, you're breaking my balls here, I was joking. Oh fuck, can you just see it- what if they were like, mid-hump, and he dropped Testaburger on her fat ass. Oh, fuck. What if they were like, doing some sort of kama sutra style sex position and he dropped her and he broke his penis. They must be super pissed off right now HAHAH...haha...wait. Wait. Wait a minute, hold on here." He slammed on the breaks, a few zombies in the distance surrounding the car.

"Did you just suggest we should go all the way back into South Park, and try to help them out of the Wall*Mart."

Butters blinked, frowning as he nodded slowly and said, "Well Eric, it was fun and all, but the town...it's awfully bad there and I don't think Token or Wendy would leave you in Wall*Mart alone."

Cartman stared at Butters, his mouth parted slightly as he gave him a wary glare.

"Butters, you do realize every day at school Wendy called me a fat fuck, right."

"Well, yeah but-"

"And Token poured hot sauce in my jock strap."

"I think that was Kyle, Eri-"

"No, no it wasn't Butters. Kyle might have done it but everyone knows that hot sauce is only available for rich people, okay. That is the taste of rich man's hot sauce. Token was the mastermind behind that. I don't care! Look, I'm not going back because they're dumbshits. It's the Darwin Award. If they're not intelligent enough to get out of there then they die. I fought out of the school with my brain and bare hands and protected you, Bradley, Kip and Bridon and I survived."

"Eric, we had the golf clubs from Kip's golf pra-"

"Butters, obviously you were stricken with delirium from the sudden onset of the apocalypse and you don't recall how it was because of ME that we all survived." Eric rolled his eyes as he revved the engine a few times and then sped off down the road, slamming into another zombie and sending it flying over the windshield. Butters jumped and grabbed onto his seat belt, listening to the thud on the ceiling.

"O-okay, Eric." The blond muttered, his eyes lowered to the dashboard.


	9. Chapter 9 - Craig's Group - Part 1

"Watch it Marsh," Craig hissed through his teeth as Stan brushed past him, his hand jerking for a moment as he tried to not punch him. It had only been a day since they found the old factory, and they boarded up the big doors. Now they had barely enough light to be comfortable drifting in from the ceiling telling them what day it was. The only food they had was old abandoned crates of spam. Stan pulled his arm back, glaring at Craig as he grabbed a dirty mug to fill up in the water barrel Kevin had made to filter water to make it clean. Amazingly, he was really resourceful and had used old piping to redirect rainfall into a barrel that filtered the water as it came in, purifying the water.

"Fuck off, Tucker," Stan shot at the other as he brushed past him again, heading for the ladder that led to the overseers booth. He and Clyde had started bunking there, mainly because Clyde was terrified of the mice, and he wouldn't sleep alone because he was afraid of bats.

And Stan wouldn't sleep in the same space as Craig.

Craig thought the whole thing was ridiculous, and he really wanted to bunk with his bro Clyde, but Clyde seemed pretty attached to Stan now. He was convinced that Stan was using his motherly touch to pull Clyde to him.

The orange-hooded blond walked over to Craig, leaning his head on the other's shoulder as he stared towards the class window on the roof. He really missed the stars. "Yeah Ken?" Craig asked idly, not moving.

He heard Ken mumble something, but he couldn't understand him.

"Kenny, take off the hood."

Kenny mumbled again. Craig turned and pushed his forehead off his shoulder, then pulled down the material from blocking his mouth, staring at him. "What?"

"I miss Karen."

"I know...but I'm sure she's with Ruby. And Ruby will fucking kill everything she sees. Don't worry." His heart sank anyways when he heard why Kenny was being so cuddly - after all, he missed Ruby a lot. He had to chew on the inside of his mouth to keep from crying, because Kenny had the same fear as him. Were they really okay? He wanted to believe yes, but he couldn't be sure. He was sure about nothing anymore.

Reaching up, he rubbed Kenny's back, letting the other lean on him again. They stayed that way for a few minutes before he heard Kevin and Clyde walk into the room, and they walked over.

"BRO! Kevin totally found a room with a bed and everything, can I have it? I mean, I'll share it with Kevin since obviously he found it, but please? Pleasssse can I have the bed? Please? Please? Please-"

"Fine Clyde."

Clyde threw his fists in the air, his face towards the ceiling as he went "SCORE! FUCK YEAH! I'VE GOT A BED! Come on, Kevin, I'm going to go jump on it."

"Yeah because that's great for the mattress," Kevin commented, smiling slightly as Clyde grabbed his arm and dragged him back towards the hall off of the factory room. They disappeared, and Kenny yawned.

"I'm going to go try and get in on that bed thing." Kenny said as he stretched, and Craig smirked.

"Kenny, don't molest Donovan and Stoley," He nudged Ken, and added, "You know we can just go to the kitchen and fuck on the counter." Kenny stared at him, then grinned from ear to ear as he ruffled Craig's hair, which made Craig frown.

"I'll take you up on that tomorrow night, Craig. I'm actually fucking beat, I just want to sleep. You should you know, actually sleep tonight." The blond looked a bit worried as he added, "You haven't slept since we got here..."

"I'll sleep for you, Ken. Just go get some rest." He gave Ken a bear hug before he let him walk off, and the other gave him a half wave as he walked off after Clyde and Kevin.

The room was oddly quiet now, and he glanced up at the overseer room, the ladder dangling. It was barely big enough for three people. He walked to the base of the ladder and stared up at the door in the ceiling, but he knew Stan could hear him from below - the first day they had tested how sound proof everything was by horsing around.

"Marsh." He called out, frowning as he waited for a response. None. "Marsh. Open the goddamn door." When there was no response, he flipped off the trap door at the top of the ladder in frustration. "Fucking annoying useless fucker..." He muttered under his breath, staring up.

That was when Stan opened the trap door just far enough to drop the mug he was holding down the length of the ladder, and Craig barely missed it by stepping backwards. He looked at the smashed ceramic on the floor, his eyes wide as he slowly looked upwards, a morbid expression on his face. Then he started climbing the ladder, he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his body.

That fucker...He thought as he grabbed each rung on the ladder in quick succession, reaching the top in less than a minute. He made a fist and pounded on the steel trap, which Stan had latched shut.

"OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR, MARSH. OPEN IT, FUCKER!"

"No," Stan said plainly from the other side.

"FUCK YOU JUST OPEN THE DOOR!" Craig pounded again, sure he was going to dent the steel.

"I can't open the door."

"WHY THE FUCK NOT?"

"I'm sitting on it to keep you out."

Craig stared at the door above him, his expression vacant. ...Did Marsh REALLY just tell him he wasn't going to open the door.

"Open. This fucking. Door. I swear to FUCK if you don't open this fucking goddamn door I will fucking throw you down this fucking trap door when I pry it the fuck open." His anger was building, his face warm as he leered at the door. He could tell his frustration was getting to the unbearable point - tears were welling up in his eyes.

"Not opening it, Tucker! Go the fuck away, Jesus Christ." Stan said as he slammed his fist down on the door from the other way. The minute he did so, Stan felt the door shift in a strange way, and then he heard a sickening creak of old faulty metal give out.

The door fell off, and he fell with it, barely missing Craig's head. He frantically reached out to grab the ledge, but the height difference and his reaction time didn't match up and he continued downwards.

His outstretched hand instead met Craig's hand. And Craig's fingers wrapped around Stan's wrist, and the other firmly gripped the ladder, causing Stan to dangle. In shock, Stan stared at the other, his blue eyes wide as he hung there.

The steel hinge trap door fell to the floor, clattering loudly.

Stan opened his mouth to say something, but the sight of tears in Craig's eyes made him close his mouth again.

"Grab the fucking ladder, idiot," Craig said through bared teeth, and Stan obeyed. Craig stubbornly climbed up through the hole, walking over to the chairs inside and sitting in one of them, looking out over the factory.

The other was left on the ladder, staring at the rung, clinging as if it would drop from under him too. He debated with climbing down, but curiosity won, so he climbed up - to join Craig.


	10. Chapter 10 - Craig's Group - Part 2

Stan pulled himself up through the opening, his eyes fixated on Craig as the other sat in the chair across the small over-seeing room. He crawled safely away from the gaping hole, now that they couldn't fasten it securely shut no one should be sleeping up there. He wasn't sure though why Craig went back up.

"What the fuck do you want." Craig asked suddenly, his pupils flitting over to Stan from the corner of his eyes, not bothering to look directly at him.

The other boy with the brown jacket looked to his hands, mainly for a reason to get distracted. Finally he responded, "Why are you up here?"

"Oh, I don't know, could be that your fat ass was on the ladder so I couldn't go down, and ladders only go one of two ways."

"Hey," Stan glared at him as he called him a fat ass, and he flipped him off, but Craig had already flipped him off.

"Seriously, go the fuck away Marsh, should've let you fall."

"Fuck you, Craig."

"Don't use my first name, dipshit." Craig leered at Stan, turning the swivel chair towards him as he flipped him off again. "Why can't you just haul your ass down the fucking ladder and give me my fucking space."

"Why did you even come up here in the first fucking place?! This is my fucking spot, you get the fuck out!" Stan yelled at him, his face turning red.

Instead of responding, Craig turned the chair away, ignoring him. Making a disgruntled "pfft" sound, Stan glared at the metal wall for awhile, then slowly got up and walked over to Craig's chair, looking at him from the side. "Why the fuck aren't you responding."

Craig kept his face directed obstinately on the overseers window out on the factory floor.

"Tucker, I'm fucking speaking to you. Look at me."

Nothing. Not even a muscle spasm in his facial features.

In frustration, Stan put his hand on the back of the chair and spun it to face him, pulling Craig by the front of his shirt forwards, his face dangerously close. "Fucking say something."

Craig's bored expression didn't change, but his eyes locked on Stan's.

Then he leaned forwards and smashed their lips into a heated kiss, his hand going to the back of Stan's neck to keep him anchored there as he pressed himself against him. Stan didn't object, and the warmth from the other was enjoyable as their lips rubbed against one another's, and Stan's upper teeth dragged over Craig's bottom lip as he pulled away to look at him.

"Guys," A faint voice from below the cabin rang out, and Stan jumped, panicking as he backed away from Craig. "Guys, you okay? Is someone dead? Because we heard shit falling and we thought you guys finally killed each other but I only see a door down here, you okay Craig? Craig, come on bro, this isn't funny I'm freaking out."

"I'm fine Clyde," Craig called out, his eyes still locked on Stan's, as if daring him to come closer again. After a second, he lifted his lanky form from the chair and walked over to the opening, easing himself down onto the ladder and climbing down, leaving Stan frozen in the cabin.

"Jesus Christ I'm so happy you're fine, I thought for sure you had croaked and left me alone, I almost wet the bed when I heard the bang and Kevin was about to ban me from it- dude, why do you have that look on your face? Don't rape me with your eyes, it's not cool bro. I know I'm hot but come on have some self-restraint."

"I'm not looking at you Clyde..."

"What, you're looking at my butt? Damn bro, you need to control your urges for me."

Stan leaned against the wall, sliding downwards into a sitting position as he stayed quiet and listened to the others talk.


	11. Chapter 11 - Christophe's Group

((WARNING: Gore, Violence, Torture, Captivity, Dristophe))

Feeling dizzy awareness wash over him as he opened his eyes, his vision only comprehending faint blurs of color. After a moment, he realized that he was in a dark place - and his awaking senses noted the dank smell of rust and mildew. With a sigh, he shuddered as he felt the cloth shoved in his mouth, and the tie around his head to make sure it stayed. It effectively muzzled him. Rolling his eyes, he tried to move his hands and legs, both of which were bound by an obnoxious amount of rope.

His mind went blank as he tried remembering how he got to this basement, until he remembered the altercation with Christophe in the back of the shop. So this was Christophe's house. He was sitting in Christophe's basement, tied up, bleeding and sore. His lips turned down in a frown, though it was hardly one because of the cloth.

His vision cleared to allow him to see weapons on the opposite wall, lining the shelves carelessly. The water heater was broken, and leaking on the floor. There was cracks in the cold cement, the wooden rafters were hanging low. It was amazing how lifeless a human home could seem to Damien with the right accommodations. Christophe really knew how to decorate to please him.

Then he noted the syringes on the floor, drips of blood on the floor. A disgusted noise erupted from his own throat - did he really stick those in him and take his blood because of his need for painkillers? It didn't surprise him Christophe would sink that low.

The sound of creaking floorboards made him look upwards, and he heard Gregory chuckle.

"Tophe, you make the best nurse." The British boy mused out loud, and Christophe's huff and response came in a short, "Shut up, Gregory. Ze minute you can walk you haul your ass around ze 'ouse."

"Mmmpfh," Damien struggled against the binding ropes, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the ceiling. No, that wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to stay in the basement, starving to death, bleeding, while Christophe took care of his lover upstairs with /his/ blood. No. This wasn't acceptable.

"Mfophhhm-" he felt the rope chaffing his wrists as he fought with them, fury building as he fell on his side in the struggle. His eyes watered at the strange sensation resulting from his pain, which he usually didn't feel.

He barely heard the two above him chattering as he thought, "maybe I deserve this horror," which was quickly replaced with the thought: "I'm going to fucking kill Christophe."


End file.
